


of anger management and good parenting

by nightkat



Series: batfamily adventures [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bat Family, Brothers, Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dick Grayson, Protective Jason Todd, batfamily, or he tries to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightkat/pseuds/nightkat
Summary: Batman and Robin have one of their usual screaming matches. This time, Damian takes it personally. With Nightwing on a mission, the rest of the batfamily have to try (awkwardly) to comfort their little brother. And maybe a surprise appearance from Superman to deal with (yell at) an emotionally constipated Batman.





	1. never enough

_Don't you mess it up, Bruce, you understand? He's thirteen. Don't let the fact that he's Robin get in the way of your judgement. He's_ thirteen.  _He needs hugs. And reassurance. When I come back, I better find both of you still in a healthy, mutual relationship or I swear to God, Bruce._

Those were Nightwing's last words to Batman before he went deep undercover with the Titans. Bruce thought it was easy enough. Hug his son. Awkwardly praise him. Move on.

So how did he get into this mess?

"You were reckless tonight! No, you were  _stupid_. No back up, no plan, you turned off your comms, and jumped into a gunfight without so much as your bulletproof armor!" Batman was pacing agitatedly back and forth in the Batcave. In front of him was his son, Damian, who was growing angrier and angrier while he mended his broken arm himself. "You're lucky you only got out with a broken arm."

"A broken arm is nothing," Damian bit out. "I was careless in my landing, that's all. I didn't kill anyone, did I, Father? And I rescued all the hostages? I don't see what is causing your anger."

Bruce, his cowl pushed back, turned to face his son, blue eyes glowing in fury. "You don't see why I'm angry? Do you know what you were tonight? You weren't a warrior, you weren't a soldier, you weren't even Robin. You were a child. A reckless child who shouldn't have left the manor in the first place."

"I'm not a child!" Damian yelled, hopping off the gurney to stand toe to toe with his father. His short stature caused a sliver of intimidation to pass him, but Damian shook it off to maintain his glare. "I  _saved_ those hostages, and I didn't kill anyone!" He didn't, damn it! He held back just to please his father. "You're just angry one of your fake sons wasn't with you tonight! If Drake had been there--"

 _"If Tim had been with me tonight, I wouldn't have had to deal with you!"_ Bruce roared, body shaking with tremors. His mind was going through all of the possibilities that could have went down tonight. His son, bloody on the floor. Bullet holes littered throughout his body. Joker using real bombs in the warehouse, killing his son, just like J--no. No, he couldn't think about that.

Years of training with Talia kept Damian from recoiling on the outside, but hurt blossomed in his stomach and bloomed to his chest. The pain of his broken arm couldn't compare to the knife of his father's words. 

Bruce growled and pointed a finger to his Damian's chest, not noticing the emotional turmoil of his son. "Tim would have analyzed the situation, waited for me, and followed through with a fool proof plan that didn't involve jumping blindly into a warehouse full of Joker's thugs. He wouldn't have put himself in  _unnecessary_ danger and certainly would  _not_ have distracted me and let Joker escape because I had to attend to  _your_ injuries in the field because of some idiotic decisions."

Damian felt tears sting in the back of his eyes. He tried so hard tonight to make his father proud. He wanted tonight to be the night to show Bruce he belonged at his side as Robin. He saw a chance to save the hostages. Didn't Batman see that one of the thugs was going to shoot a little girl? Did he not see that they were about to rape a woman? He couldn't have waited. 

As usual, when faced with emotions, Damian channeled it into anger. He slapped his father's hand aside and jumped back. "I'm not at fault!" Damian matched his father's tone. "I--I--" Damian cursed in Arabic at his lack of English words to explain himself. His chest was getting tighter by the second. He felt like throwing up and crying and finding Grayson, but Grayson was  _gone_ and his arm was hurting.

Bruce straightened and threw a hard stare at Damian. "If you can't see your wrongdoings tonight, maybe you shouldn't be Robin." Before Damian could react, Bruce shook his head and pinched his nose. "Sometimes, I regret making you Robin."

It was the last blow. Damian could barely keep back the tears that threatened to come forth. He visibly hunched and stepped back. He'd always suspected. It's always been in the back of his mind, that Bruce didn't really love him. That he took Damian in because he had no choice, and he only made him Robin because of Dick's insistence. He knew he didn't have that special space in Bruce's mind like Dick, Cassandra, Tim, hell even Jason had. He was the outcast.  But hearing it out loud made Damian want to throw up.

 _"Master Bruce!"_ Alfred exclaimed at the stairs. "That's quite enough. Both of you need to calm yourselves and prepare for bed. It's much too late for this sort of discussion." He scurried down the last few steps and laid a gentle hand on the subdued Damian. "Come, Master Damian. A hot bath is waiting for you in your room."

Slowly, Damian followed Alfred's nudging. At Alfred's insistence, he took off his Robin boots silently and made his way to the stairs. Alfred squeezed his shoulder in reassurance, following just behind him.

"Damian." Bruce's voice echoed throughout the cave. Damian froze, hoping it wasn't another tongue lashing. He couldn't take anymore. "You're grounded until further notice. Both as Damian Wayne and Robin. Until I can trust you again, you won't be leaving the manor without my permission."

Stiffly and without looking back, Damian nodded. Alfred ushered him up the rest of the stairs and to his room.

"Thank you, Pennyworth," Damian said tightly, at the entrance of his bedroom. "I don't need anymore assistance." He didn't wait for the old butler to answer before he stepped inside and closed the door in Alfred's face.

Heavily, Damian collapsed against his door, sliding to the floor. He hunched his knees to his chest and wrapped his good arm around them. His chest heaved up and down. His League of Assassins side at war with the thirteen year old child Nightwing had been able to nurture under his care. Trembling, Damian rested his forehead against his knees.

Then the sobs that had been accumulating since the very beginning ripped through. He cried for the utter loneliness and disappointment his chest ached with everyday.

He was never enough.

 


	2. tim drake

The next morning in the manor was tense. At lease, for Bruce it was. The seat in front of him was unusually empty. Damian always joined his father at breakfast at this time. He supposed last night's conversation was still fresh in his son's mind. 

For Tim, it was another morning in the manor. Predictably, Tim stumbled into the dining room at exactly 10:30 AM, mumbling something right away about coffee. He seated heavily in his usual seat, yawning widely and half attempting to push his bed hair down. Bruce watched on, amused, from the top of his morning paper. 

"Thanks, Alfred," Tim mumbled, grasping the coffee pot handed to him and pouring himself a large cup. Alfred hummed disapprovingly, but placed an omelet plate in front of the third youngest anyway. He yawned again but then furrowed his eyebrows, looking to the empty seat. "Where's Damian?"

Bruce shrugged, trying to look unperturbed. "Being a brat."

Tim paused. His fork and omelet were halfway into his mouth before he put it back down with a sigh. "Bruce," Tim started. "What did you do?"

"Why do you think I did anything?" Bruce asked indignantly. Okay, so maybe over the night Bruce had started to regret his harsh words at his youngest son. But his son  _had_ been reckless. And maybe he was regretting the punishment he imposed but it wasn't any different than what he had done when his other three sons were Robin, right? 

Tim rolled his eyes. It's been about a week since Nightwing disappeared off the grid for his secret mission. This was bound to happen soon. "What happened on patrol last night?" 

His father shrugged and pointedly went back to reading his paper. "Joker. It was handled."

Something about the way Bruce was crinkling his paper and the tightness in his voice told Tim it was  _not_ handled. "Well." Tim pushed his seat back, his coffee and omelet in both hands. "If you aren't going to tell me, I can always go to the batcave's cameras to find out." Damn Dick for making Tim promise to take care of the demon brat. Still, if something happened between Bruce and Damian, two emotionally wild individuals, it wasn't anything good. He made his way to the grandfather clock. 

"Batcave lock down," Bruce tried weakly.

Tim threw his father a dry look, as if saying,  _really?_ "Batcave, T-D-003 override."

Bruce groaned and placed his head in his hands.

* * *

 

Jason Todd was finishing up one of the last thugs with a hard kick to the face when his phone vibrated in his side pocket. It was his family phone, the one Bruce shoved in his face and told him curtly that all of his brothers' and his numbers were already encoded into it. Bending to grasp the thug's collar and drag him to the pile of unconscious men, he simultaneously fished out his phone and pressed 'accept'. 

"Yellow?"

"Jason." Tim sighed in relief that his brother answered. Sometimes you never knew with the Red Hood. "You busy?"

"Uh-h," Jason hummed, wrapping the group of criminals tightly with a coil of rope. "I was, but I guess not anymore. Why? Trouble in paradise?"

"Sort of. Damian and Bruce had a fight."

Red Hood snorted. He scaled a wall, leaped, grabbed onto a fire escape, and rolled onto the roof of a building. From here, he could see potential criminals in alley ways. "What's new? Did you actually call just to tell me that, Timmy?"

"No, I mean, well," Tim paused. "It's kinda bad this time. They had a fight over patrol last night, and I was watching the tape in the batcave and well . . . Bruce said some pretty harsh things, and I don't think the demon is taking it well."

Jason grimaced behind his helmet. Dick, Tim, and Jason knew all too well the kinds of things that would explode from Bruce if the man was faced with _emotions_. What probably happened was the brat put himself in danger, and Bruce? Facing the emotion of almost losing his son again? Yeah, he could see how that was a recipe for disaster. "Where is the little demon?"

"In his room. I think. But he hasn't left it all day. Jason, Bruce told him he regretted making Damian Robin."

Fuck. That had to be hard blow. No one took being Robin more seriously than Damian. "Fuck," Jason said aloud.

Tim must have sighed because there was static on the phone for a moment. "Yeah. Nightwing is gone, too, for an undercover mission so he won't be coming back until next week or so. Look, um, I'm going to try to talk to him, but could you, you know, come over? I mean, it's just, you have more experience . . ."

"Experience dealing with an angry Bruce? Experience with dying and Bruce blaming it on you when really he's mad at the criminals but can't manage his emotions?"

"Um. Yeah."

Jason took off his helmet to run a hand across his tired, sweaty face. "Fine. I'll come by tonight. I have to take care of some things first."

* * *

 

This was so out of his element. 

Tim stood in front of Damian's bedroom door. He held a tray of Damian's favorite tea, the one he drank frequently when he lived with Talia, scones Alfred made, and a cup of coffee for himself. It seemed like a good idea at the time making it, but now he felt ridiculous. Who was he to talk to Damian about emotions? He wasn't exactly emotionally stable himself. Hell, he needs medication to deal with anxiety and depression on a daily basis, and most therapy sessions with him involves silence.

It's been a year since Damian and Tim sort of resolved their differences. At the very least, Damian wasn't insulting Tim outright everyday nor trying to kill him. It was a plus. There was also the time where the two amicably watched an old history movie together, Damian falling asleep on Tim's shoulder. They both never spoke of it, but still, another plus.

 _Here goes nothing_. Tim balanced the tray with one hand and knocked with the other. "Damian?" No answer. Tim wasn't expecting one. "Damian, I know you didn't sneak out. The batcave shows three heat signatures in the house." Still no answer. "I have your favorite tea. It's hot, but it won't be for long. I also know you didn't eat breakfast, and Alfred made those good scones you like--"

The door creaked open. Tim was greeted by Damian's glare. The boy was still in his pajamas, his arm in a sling, and his eyes were suspiciously red. Damian glared at Tim's face, flicked his eyes to the tray, then back to Tim. "Hn," Damian said. "You snooped. You watched last night's tape."

"Yes," Tim said quietly, not knowing what else to say.

"Tt." Damian opened the door wider but didn't invite Tim in. Instead, he turned around to sit back on his bed. "I don't need your sympathy, Drake."

"It's not sympathy," Tim explained. He entered the room anyway. When Damian didn't kill him, he entered further to set the tray onto Damian's desk. "It's understanding."

"What could you possibly understand?"

Tim ignored the question in favor for grabbing the desk chair and straddling it, resting his chin on his arms. He faced Damian, who looked angry on his bed, even while drinking his tea. "I was Robin once. So was Jason. And Dick. I think Steph for like, a quick second. Do you think you're the only one who's been hurt by one of Bruce's angry tirades?"

"I'm not hurt," Damian muttered immediately. "My arm doesn't hurt."

They both knew Tim wasn't talking about the physical kind of hurt, but neither commented on it. "Bruce didn't mean that he regretted taking you on as Robin," Tim said gently. "Not really. He was angry. He meant it in a way in that he regrets that you're in his dangerous world." Damian didn't answer but the hunch of his shoulders told Tim he was listening. "Bruce was still running on adrenaline from that stunt you pulled. Which, by the way, seriously, dude? What were you thinking? You know Joker did kill Jason, right?"

Damian sniffed and rubbed his nose. He didn't speak, letting the silence weigh in the room. Just as Tim thought it was a lost cause, Damian muttered, "I was just trying to prove my worth to Father."

Tim frowned. He knew what it felt like thinking you weren't part of the family, but this was Damian, the blood son. "You . . . You do know that you don't have to do that, right, Damian? You've proven your worth to Bruce the moment you were born. He loves you."

But he doesn't. At least, that's what Damian thought. Bruce never spent time with Damian other than patrol. When Damian had tried to bring up going to a museum of art and history in Gotham together, Bruce had brushed him off. He willingly made time for coffee talks with Tim, though, and when Jason, on his rare, good day, asked Bruce to lunch, Bruce had cancelled all his plans just to go. It hurt, but Damian knew it was because he was still the new Robin. The new addition to the family. The one who Bruce hadn't  _chosen_ , but forced on by Talia.

Damian stared at his tea, eyes welling up at the thought. Damn it! He's been emotional all night and day. He blamed Dick for it. 

"I always feel like I'm failing Father," he admitted, voice cracking in the end.

Tim bit his lip. He wasn't good at this. Dick was. Even Jason was better at this than him. He's never seen Damian cry. Making a decision, he stood up from his chair and approached the bed. "Can I sit with you?" A beat. Damian didn't take his stare off of his tea. Then he nodded. Tim climbed onto the bed and sat next to his brother, but still didn't touch him. "Can I put my arm around you?"

Consent was important in the bat household. Every one of them had their own traumas and triggers. Damian sometimes flinched at an unexpected touch, the bat family learned quickly. 

Damian gave another small nod. Tim, mindful of the broken arm, wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders and brought him close to his chest.

"I felt like that, too, when I was Robin," Tim admitted lowly. "There was this one case. The Scarecrow was on the loose. Bruce and I got into a fight before patrol. He wanted to scope out Gotham and protect the hospital. But I was  _sure_ the Scarecrow was going to hit Arkham Asylum. Bruce being Bruce, didn't compromise."

Damian's lip twitched and he turned his head to give a mock glare to Tim. "Don't tell me you went to the asylum alone, Drake."

Tim grinned in return. "Who do you think I am? Of course I did." He shrugged. "Though I did leave my comms on," he continued, giving Damian a pointed look. The youngest had the shame to at least flush a little. "So I went off to the asylum. Someone had to protect it and make sure nobody escaped, and if Batman wasn't going to do it, it might as well have been 5'4", 125 pound me right?" Damian made a -tt- sound at the joke, which Tim translated as permission to continue. "Bruce was  _furious_. Like nuclear-level furious. I mean, I was  _right_. Scarecrow did attack Arkham. But by the time we defeated the guy and calmed everything down, I had inhaled a large dose of toxin gas and been stabbed twice with Scarecrow's toxin syringes."

Damian scowled from his position, head on Tim's chest, and sipped his tea. Tim swore he heard an 'idiot' muttered from him.

"Yeah, so it was a rough night. I don't really remember much, because hello, delirious from the toxins. But when I woke up and wanted nothing more than a hug from my adopted father, what do you think Bruce did? I'll give you a hint, it's exactly what he did to you."

"Father yelled at you?"

"He was shouting at the top of his lungs." Tim grimaced at the memory. "I probably repressed it as a traumatic memory, but I remember him screaming something that made me cry to Dick after."

This made Damian look up again. He knew Tim was more _emotional_ than him, but he had also never seen Tim cry.

"He said he regretted making me Robin," Tim murmured softly. "He said he regretted ever meeting me."

It was almost exactly the same thing as Father had said to him. Just hearing it now, even when it wasn't directed at him, made Damian's stomach turn. 

"What did Grayson do?" There was no way Dick learned what Bruce had said and done nothing.

Tim snorted, squeezing his brother's shoulders as he did so. "Dick was so mad, oh man. You think Bruce takes the trophy in being angry? Dick tops him, one hundred percent. He stormed into the batcave and actually lifted Bruce up by his collar." Damian cracked a smile. Yeah, he could see his brother doing that. "There was a lot of shouting, I don't know, I was upstairs. But it went on for a long time, and I could only really hear Dick. I know that just hours after, Bruce came to talk to me." Tim ducked his head to meet his little brother's eyes. "And this is how I know Bruce didn't mean what he said. It was really hard for him, actually talking to me about his feelings. But what he really regretted was that I had been put into a position of danger. He was actually angry at himself for not listening to me in the first place, and being wrong about Scarecrow's attack. When I was under the toxins, he stayed by my bed and didn't sleep for the 28 hours I was under. I checked the bat cave's cameras to check if he was lying. Bruce  _cares_ , but he's a ball of emotions that he doesn't know how to release.

"I'm not saying it excuses his actions or words," Tim continued, watching Damian open his mouth. "I'm angry at him right now too because it looks like he still hasn't learned that anger isn't the best channel for everything. He loves you, though, Damian. Everyday after a patrol when you couldn't go with him, he would check up on you, even with all of his injuries. After you got injured in that fire, he spent 30 hours fixing and adding to your armor."

The tears that Damian had been holding back slipped free. The boy sniffed and rubbed harshly over his eyes with his pajama shirt. "Then why doesn't Father show it?" he asked brokenly. "Ever since Mother dropped me off, he's--I've been a  _burden_. I've been following his code. I've done everything that was asked! I've tried to be  _good!"_

"You are good," Tim said, rubbing his hand up and down Damian's good arm. "This is Bruce's fault. Not yours. You can't take the blame for Bruce's faults."

Damian took a shuddering breath. If his grandfather and mother saw him now, an emotional wreck, they would laugh in his face. But maybe not Tim. "I . . . I miss Grayson."

Tim stifled a laugh. "Oh God, me too, Damian. That way, he could take my place here. I am so out of my element."

"Idiot," Damian grumbled, shuffling closer to Tim's body. "You are adequate, Drake."

"Thanks?" Tim gave another grin but leaned back to view his brother's arm. "Is your arm hurting?" He hadn't missed the way Damian flinched every time he moved.

"N--" Damian paused. "Yes."

"Thanks for telling me," Tim said sincerely. "Can I see it?"

"Tt, it's a clean break, Drake." Still, he obediently stayed still for Tim to move his arm this way and that. 

"Yeah, I'm just looking for additional bruising. Alfred has some painkillers if you want some?"

"The League of Assassins taught me to deal with the pain. I am fine."

Tim sighed and leaned back in his original position. "You aren't in the League of Assassins anymore, Damian. You're part of us now." He seemed to have said the right thing because Damian  _hmm_ _ed_ and grasped Tim's shirt with his free hand. Tim smiled and shifted to take his mini iPad out from his back pocket. "I'm trying to crack into Bludhaven's police reports on this new target called The Red Terror. Want to help me?"

Damian didn't say anything, but he also didn't object, so Tim took that as a yes. Together, they sat on the bed for hours, amicably pouring over information from his tiny tablet. Tim didn't mention that he had already cracked into the reports and pieced the puzzle together. For now, he enjoyed his little brother's company, who looked like he had a light weight lifted off of his shoulders.

It wasn't everything, but it was something. And hey, it looked like Tim was sort of in his element.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Red Terror was a reference to the newest Nightwing issue that came out. That issue was so cute! I loved it. Please tell me of any typos!


	3. jason todd

Jason Todd didn't bother using the front door. Announcing his presence to Alfred and consequently Bruce wasn't part of his plan, so the third story window would have to do. He smirked at how easy it was to scale the mansion and grasp onto the familiar window ledge. How many times had he done this since coming to live here as a child? Sneaking in and out was basically his thing, not even Batman could tell when he sneaked in and out.

Of course, that had led to his ultimate demise, but besides that.

He easily picked the window lock and slid it open. Making sure the desk underneath the window was sturdy, he graciously wiggled through the window, bracing his long legs on the desk. It took a few seconds, but his feet landed silently onto the carpeted floor, and he was upright again. Perfect! A successful break-in into the Bat manor--

" _Ahem."_

Jason whipped his head to the voice, panic seizing him. His eyes searched for the personal responsible, before quickly landing on Tim, who was standing at his bed. His brother's arms were crossed, an eyebrow arched. 

"Oh, hey, Timmy. Whataya doing in my room?" Jason grinned under the helmet. He grasped the base of it, fiddled with the adjustments, and lifted the helmet off, freeing his sweaty locks. God it was always so hot under there. 

"Your room? This is  _my_  room, idiot!" Tim made a flimsy gesture to emphasize his point. 

"Whaa? No, this is my . . . " Jason trailed off, twisting his head to look at his surroundings. Various nerd posters plastered the walls. Four computer monitors sat at another desk by the foot of the bed. A Red Robin figure stood proudly on a shelf. Oh shit. He went into the wrong room.

Tim rolled his eyes and relaxed his stance. He had thought someone was trying to break in until he caught sight of Jason's familiar red helmet. "Can you be a normal human being and use the front door for once?"

"Uh, no. First, I came back from the dead. I'm not normal. Second, where's the fun in that?" He tossed his Red Hood helmet behind him carelessly and crossed the room to bend and examine a specific figure. "And third, why the  _fuck_  do you have your own figurine?" Jason cackled at the pristine Red Robin figure. This was rich. He didn't think even Nightwing had his own figurine.

Tim flushed. "Shut up! Damian got a toy from that Bat Burger place, and he didn't want it, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, but Timmy, this figurine is in Peak condition," Jason snickered. "Like, You-Polish-It-and-Dust-It-Everyday condition. And it's in a  _glass case."_

"Just leave it alone." Tim's face looked like a tomato. "Why did I even invite you?"

"Because you think I can solve all your batty family troubles." Jason gave a laugh but sobered at the actual reason he came here. "So, how is the brat?"

Tim shrugged. "He came out of his room. I think he's reading. I talked to him a bit, the whole thing about Bruce not meaning it and all that, but I could only do so much. We just became not-enemies, you know."

"And you think I can do better?"

"I think you can empathize more. Sure, all of us Robins know how stupid Bruce can be when he's angry. But, you know . . ." Tim grimaced.

"Yeah," Jason matched his grimace. "I know." Years of fighting with Bruce and hurt words and a shit ton of miscommunication made Jason the winner in dealing with Bruce's bullshit. "Okay. I guess I'll meet up with him now. It's actually a good thing he's in the library, because I brought this to read to him." He dug out a thick book he had in his back pocket. 

Tim's jaw dropped. "You're not."

Jason laughed. "I so am."

* * *

 

It was around late afternoon when Damian entered the library. He ate a bit at Alfred and Tim's insistence (fools for worrying, if anyone asked him). He hadn't seen his father all day, despite both of them being in the house, and that was a relief. He wasn't sure if he could take another lecture or disappointed look. Nightwing still won't be back until next week. Damian had sent him a tentative text to check in, but as predicted, there was no response. The mission was a deep undercover. 

The library had always been his space, besides his room. Bruce hardly used it anymore as he grew up. Dick couldn't stand to sit still in their quiet home library. Jason was an avid reader and had also spent much of his time in the library before Damian, but that was before Jason died. Jason didn’t visit the manor much anymore, besides the usual dinner or even lunch if he's in a good mood. Tim likes the bat cave more, because he finds the computers there way more advanced. 

So, the library was Damian's. He had read a lot when he lived with his mother Talia. While most of his education was forced and dull, he found time to occasionally read a book he wanted to. When Bruce had given him a tour of the manor the first time Damian came to Gotham, the young Robin was enchanted by the shelves full of books.

He was reading one of the old classics this time. Surprisingly, it was Tim who had recommended it. 

In his usual spot, Damian curled his legs onto the couch, lips twitching when Alfred the Cat ran into the room and jumped up to purr at him. He opened the book to where he left off, and almost immediately, a note slid between the pages. Catching it, Damian's eyebrows scrunched as he tried to make out the extremely messy handwriting. This was definitely not his book mark.

 "Tt." Damian carefully folded the note and put it in his pocket. "Foolish Grayson." Still, he felt his body betray him as a red flush crept up his neck and cheeks.

_Hey Dami!_

_I knew you would read this book again sometime after I left. Not sure when you'll open this, but hopefully by the time you do, I'll be coming back to Gotham soon. Don't worry about fighting with Bruce, if you do, okay? Stay patient and remember our breathing exercises! And don't die!!_

_Love,_

_Dick._

Dick was the first to really show Damian love. Sure, Bruce had tried his best to take care of Damian and give his son a place in the family. But then Bruce had died, sort of, and Dick had taken his place at Batman. It was their time as Batman and Robin when Damian started to willingly receive the love Dick gave him. Dick had shown him that his love was  _actually_  unconditional. By the end of their Batman and Robin run, Damian had taken Dick's criticisms well anytime he had messed up on the field, whether by temper or an impulsive mistake, because he knew those criticisms didn't negate his accomplishments. He knew his place with Dick. He was  _good_  with Dick.

With Bruce . . . Damian didn't know. He never knew his place with his father. Was Bruce proud of him? Damian doubted it. Praise was rare for the man. Damian knew he was a mistake. Talia had assaulted Bruce, after all. He wasn't wanted in the first place. At first, Damian thought he could change that. Prove to Batman that he needed a Robin. A Robin that was Damian. But as years went on and Damian grew, he wasn't so sure.

_I regret making you Robin._

Damian gritted his teeth at the sharp pain that lanced through his chest. He tried to think back to Tim's words. He wasn't the only Robin that felt the pain from Bruce's inability to emote. But Damian felt it was different this time. Red Robin, Nightwing, and Red Hood all now had some equal standing with Bruce. Bruce went out of the way to show his pride for Nightwing whenever he saved Bludhaven, Red Robin every time he helped Bruce finish a case, and even Red Hood when he took down crime lords without killing anyone. When Damian accomplished anything with the Teen Titans, he was met with Batman's criticisms of the team, how they had messed up in one specific time, or that they should have called the Justice League. 

It hurt sometimes-- _all the time--_ when Red Hood was praised for not killing anyone, and Damian wasn't. Jason was raised by Batman, taught not to kill. Damian  _wasn't_ , damn it. Talia and his grandfather had beat into him that killing was the only way. There wasn't a path to be good. 

He just wanted to be good.

"What's up, demon brat?"

Speak of the devil. Damian raised his head from the book that he was definitely not reading to send a glare to his second oldest brother. Jason was mockingly grinning, slowly making his way across the library to the couch Damian occupied. "Todd. I assume Drake called you here?"

Jason shrugged in response and flopped down next to Damian with no regards to personal space. "Whataya reading?" He ducked to read the title of the book. 

Damian snapped the book closed and brought it close to his chest with his good arm. "None of your business, Todd! Your presence here is not necessary. I don't need sympathy from someone who's been cast out of the family."

"See, usually, I would beat the shit out of you for that." Jason sighed and rolled his head back, growing heavier on the couch as he relaxed his body. "But I know you're like me. You piss people off so no one knows you're actually fucking hurt. Good tactic, but this cursed family can't take hints."

"I am nothing like you!"

Jason snorts and points at the book. "Sure you are. The book you're reading? Read that in a week at your age. You're the only one who uses this library, aren't you? Maybe for the reasons like . . . it's the one space where you can relax and indulge yourself in a world where expectations and social codes aren’t weighing on your shoulders every second of the day? Where-e-e, maybe, you don’t have to think about what Bruce wants, or what Dick face wants, or what the entire world wants from you? You get to be the boy who grew up in a traumatic and gruesome environment that everyone likes to deny and ignore because that would mean acknowledging that dark side of you?”

“No!” Damian huffs and slides down in his seat. Maybe. It felt spot on. Yes. His face felt hot, and he, for once, thanked his mother’s dark skin that passed onto him. “Are you going to attempt therapy on me, Todd?”

Jason smirked, knowing he was right, but let it go. “Nope. I came to read to you . . .” He pulled out the book from his pocket again. “This!”

A black book was shoved into Damian’s face. Annoyed, Damian leaned back, focusing on the white title across the cover. “T—Twilight? Is it a classic?” He had never heard of it before. Then again, he was still trying to catch up in the literary world of leisure reading.

For some reason, his brother guffawed for a long time at the question. “You can say that. You’re going to love it. Trust me, brat, by the time I’m halfway through this book, you’ll be thankful at least your life isn’t the characters’ lives.”

That didn’t sound reassuring. “What makes you think I want to read with you, Todd?”

“I actually don’t give a shit about what you want. You have no choice.” With surprising quickness, Jason snatched the book from Damian’s chest and rested it on the table next to him, out of Damian’s reach. “Sit back and relax. I’ve been told I have the voice of a god for reading.”

Damian doubted it.

* * *

 

" _Stop. Stop reading this instant._ Cease speaking! Forever! Do you understand me, Todd? I do not want to hear one more word of this--this  _wretched_  book. Why is this Bella character falling for Edwin? He is obviously a stalker. Why do the vampires sparkle? Are they not a hunter species? How dare you bring this book into this household!"

"It's Edward, first of all, and that is the most I have heard you speak in one sitting since, like, ever." Jason burst out laughing at his little brother's increasing distress. They had gotten to about one-third of the book before Damian had interrupted him. "And about 90 percent of prepubescent girls will disagree with you. We haven't even gotten to the five movies."

Damian shifted his position to lean back and look incredulously at Jason. "There is a film for this book? Multiple films?"

"Yup! I gotta say, Robert Pattinson makes one hell of a vampire." Jason cast a long side glance to his brother, lips turned up in a half smile. Around thirty minutes into reading out loud, the boy's tense shoulders had eased. Without noticing, the two had drifted closer on the couch, their bodies touching warmly. Jason had willed himself not to tense when he felt his brother's head hesitantly rest on his shoulder. Instead, Jason casually wrapped his arm behind Damian's head to place it on the back of the couch and continued to read.

"Tt." Damian made a sound that sounded like a snort and rested his head back down again. "What possessed you to think reading this was a good idea?"

Jason shrugged. He would have ruffled his brother's hair, but he didn't want to be bitten. "Sometimes you gotta dive deep to know what's got everybody's so hyped."

Damian didn't know what 'hype' was, nor did he want to ask. Instead, the two lapsed into a semi-comfortable silence, both mildly aware of their current position to each other. Jason had his arm behind Damian on the couch, making it easier for Damian to lean his body against his brother's side. Damian was relaxed as much as he was taught to relax--truly, he will never be able to fully let go as a trained assassin. However, he would kill anyone who said it out loud, even Jon, but Damian was comfortable. Sure, Jason and he sometimes went out on a duo-patrol together, but they never went out of their way to spend more than a couple of minutes with each other outside of costume. Jason didn't hang around the manor much, and Damian didn't think Jason would welcome him barging into his safe house.

"Damian," Jason started, breaking the silence. The brother tensed. It was rare for Jason to actually use his name. "What Bruce said--"

Damian's face contorted into a scowl. He stiffened his shoulders and shifted to leave his comfortable position. "I don't need a pep talk from you!"

That didn't deter Jason. He instead leaned forward to follow Damian, ducking to catch angry, blue eyes. "Hey," he said, extremely serious. "What'd Timbo tell you? You're not alone. We've all made mistakes as Robin, and we've all dealt with the brunt of that old man's anger."

"I am not like you!" Damian flew off the couch, fists clenched as adrenaline and hurt flowed through him. "I'm not weak like the previous Robins. I am Father's blood son! I--I'm supposed to surpass all of you. To . . ." the boy trailed off. His lungs were constricting oxygen out of him. "To prove to Father . . ."

"Bruce has told you about my run as Robin, right?" Jason interrupted flatly. "Or maybe Dick face? Timbo? Alfred?" He didn't wait for an answer before he continued, his voice raising with each word. "They told you how the longer I was Robin, the more violent I was? I started giving beatings to criminals--who  _deserved it_  mind you--and the oh so righteous Batman had to always stop me? Did they tell you about the time I shattered a man's arms because he was about to assault a woman?"

Damian didn't bother answering. His chest heaved up and down as he took in his brother's words. 

"What I hate about this place," Jason gestured around him. "is that everyone likes to forget your past. How you grew up. I didn't grow up in a loving home like Dick did. I didn't have an Alfred. Neither did you. I grew up in a shack where my old man would beat me on his free time, drink at will, and my mom would roam the streets, finding drugs in every corner of Gotham." He paused, lips twisting into a pained frown. "Of course, later, she also sold me to The Joker. Point is, after living through that, you don't get to be a fucking happy-go-lucky kid. You don't get to see a black-and-white sense of justice. You see red. I grew up angry. I grew up wanting to kill those who hurt children. Children like me. But living here, with Bruce, and seeing Dick as Nightwing, part of myself was suppressed. I wasn't understood." 

Jason grew quiet, studying his shaking little brother before him. Slowly, so that he wouldn't startle him, Jason grabbed at Damian's clenched fists and pulled. Damian fumbled after, collapsing back onto the couch.

"I lived with Talia, remember?" Jason quietly asked. "After my death, I was also with the League of Assassins for a while. I know what they do as 'training'. I know that most of those scars on your body aren't from being Robin. Kid, it fucking sucks what you had to go through. It sucks that you were raised to think you had to prove your worth every minute of the day. That sucks. It's okay to know that say that it sucks. And yeah, I'm gonna say it, Bruce sucks for not thinking about that."

Damian bowed his head, lower lip trembling as he fought hard to fight back the tears. He hated Jason for saying the exact words he thought about every day. He also loved his brother for it. "There was a time," Damian rasped, voice thick. "when I was four. Do you know the insect, the bullet ant? It is believed to be have the most painful, long lasting bite in the world. It is called a bullet ant because the bite is like a bullet ripping through your skin." His good hand drifted to his shoulder, where a particular, nasty scar stood out from his tan skin. "Grandfather locked me in a small room while Mother watched. Released a thousand of them free in the room. Told me to find a way out, prove to Mother she didn't make a mistake." Jason held his breath in horror. Damian breathed to take control of himself. "I was knocked unconscious twice before I found my way out. The pain didn't stop for days." Damian huffed a humorless laugh. He didn't even fight the tears that finally made their way down his face. "Grandfather beat me once I healed. He told me I took too long to escape."

Jason released his breath. Thought carefully about his next words. "Damian, that's not  _normal_ , you know? If the justice system actually worked, your mother and grandfather would be in jail for a long time. Seriously."

Damian inhaled deeply and strayed his gaze to the ceiling. "There's anger all the time," he said, numb. "I feel anger. Grayson taught me how to control it, most of the time. But with Father, I don't know. I want to prove I am good for him. I haven't killed since I came under his care."

"Thing is, brat, you shouldn't have to prove anything to Bruce. You being his son should be enough. It probably  _is_  enough, but the old man doesn't know the word  _emotion._ " Jason's face hardened in fierce determination. "I'm going to talk to him about that. But first," he sighed and twisted his torso, arms stretched wide open.

Damian wiped at his eyes and glanced suspiciously at his unmoving brother. In fact, it looked as if Jason expected him to do something. "What are you doing, Todd?"

"What do you mean, what am I doing? I'm giving you a once in a lifetime hug. Come on."

"I do not need a hug!"

"My arms are getting tired."

"I hope they fall off!"

They hugged anyway.

* * *

 

Bruce was about done with his work. He finished up some last-minute video calls to the board and approved the latest Waynetech project Tim had proposed. Technically, he didn't have to work today, but it was a distraction from his current fight with his son, Damian. Bruce couldn't forget his son's hurt face at his harsh words, or Tim's withering glare when he reemerged from the bat cave. 

The billionaire shook his head. Maybe he'll wait for Dick to come and fix all this. He turned a corner, intending to go to the kitchen for lunch, when suddenly his back was slammed against the wall, shirt pulled up threateningly against his chin. Bruce would have given into instinct, automatically wrapping his hands around his assailant's and body throwing him to the floor. But Bruce smelled the familiar gun powder before it happened, and he recognized the rough hands. It was Jason, and whatever his son was mad about now, Bruce found it best to go with the flow. Let himself be thrown and snarled at, so that he could get to the root of the problem quicker.

"Jason," Bruce said calmly, looking into his son's furious eyes. He held his hands up complacently, not resisting when Jason put more pressure on his body against the wall. "I didn't know you were in the manor." 

"Listen up, old man," Jason snarled. "It seems you haven't learned a  _damn thing_  from your time playing daddy to us three before Damian. I should deck you right now and take Damian away from this place until Dick face comes back because honestly, you're not fit to be his father."

Something burned through Bruce's chest. It felt hot and tight, and Bruce glared back at his son, uncomfortable with the accusations.  "Is this about Damian? Last night? He jeopardized--"

"No, you listen!" Jason leaned back and slammed Bruce's back against the wall again. His father grunted. "There is a 13-year-old  _child_  in the library right now, crying because  _you_  can't learn to express actual emotions for once in your fucking life! There's a 13-year-old boy questioning on his fucking right to live because you made him believe he's not worth anything in this household. You know that being Robin is the whole world to that kid, and you go and say that shit to him? Have you learned anything?"

Bruce pushed his son back, who actually let go easily now that his words were out. "Damian . . . Damian is crying?"

"Let's see," Jason ticked off his fingers. "You compared him to Tim, calling him inadequate in doing so. You called him stupid, you said it was his fault The Joker ran off, and you told him you regretted making him Robin, which is something he takes seriously with his life. I would be fucking surprised if he wasn't!"

 _Language_. Bruce bit his tongue to stop himself. He swallowed and stuffed his hands into his pant pockets to hide his fists. "I was angry. No, I was worried," he choked out the word. "He almost got himself killed."

"Yeah, I know," Jason grunted. He shoved his hand into his jacket and pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper. "That's why you're going to these from now on."

Bruce took the paper with a frown. "Anger Management Support: how to navigate your anger into workable emotions with your loved o--Jason, I am not going to this. I've trained my whole life for self-control."

"Obviously not enough. Not with your sons." Jason shifted uncomfortably. Licking his lips, he teetered on his toes and muttered, "You made me feel incompetent when I was Robin. Dick and Tim probably can vouch for that too. Sometimes, you still do it. You  _are_  our dad." He lifted his chin to meet Bruce's shocked expression. "And yet you make us feel like one of the worst sons in the world. That sucks. I don't want that for Damian."

Bruce studied his son's earnest expression. That hot and tight ball in his chest worsened, and no amount of rubbing at it would make it go away. He knew he wasn't the best father out there. He thought he had tried his best, but maybe not. Not when Jason, the son who rarely opened up to him, was telling him that Bruce had made him feel unloved. 

"Okay," Bruce said, pain in his voice. "I'll go. If you come with me to therapy."

Jason recoiled. "Therapy? Uh, no, we've talked about this."

"Yes, we did." The father stepped closer, wrapping a warm hand around a stiff shoulder. "But I think we can both use it. It's been a long time. Trauma catches up. Evidently, we all need help sorting it out. Let's . . . Let's try to do what actual normal people do."

"We're not normal." Jason sighed when Bruce didn't move. He shrugged off the hand. "Okay. Maybe. I was thinking about it anyway."

Something shifted in the Wayne household. Some wounds were being cracked open, raw and oozing. But a new healing process was taking place. One that was healthy and permanent. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please, tell me of any mistakes! I would so appreciate a small comment, too :) Thanks so much!


	4. superman

Something blue flashed through the sky. At first, the citizens below thought it was lightning against the clear, night sky. But when no thunder came, they craned their necks again to perhaps see a trail of red along with blue.

Superman was on a mission. After a weird call from Tim (how did the kid even get his number?) and putting out two fires, he was speeding through the skies to the edge of the city, away from Metropolis. His hearing was half tuned in with the citizens of his city, in case some last minute emergency came up, and half tuned in with a particular heartbeat, miles away. The heartbeat was still relatively slow and healthy, so Superman didn't push at light speed--yet.

Who knows what trouble his partner could get into in the next minute?

* * *

 

Batman gazed down at Gotham from his perch on an abandoned building. Despite his escape the other night, the Joker hasn't made a move or shown himself yet. There was a false alarm earlier in the night that had Batman rushing from his cave to intercept Joker, but it was only someone pretending to be him. Other than that, it was an oddly quiet night, which was never good for his city. Still, Batman took what he could get and relished the mild background noise of Gotham. He still had the police scanned connected to his cowl, but the many 911 dials were for mild crimes. Jim could handle those easily. 

With the mild assurance all was well for now, he let his mind drift to his earlier conversation with his son. Looking back on it, it could have better. It should have gone better. It didn't.

_"I got an alarm that Joker's on the move. I'm going out," Bruce said tersely, already striding towards the grandfather clock._

_Tim looked up from his tablet and WE paperwork. "Need back up?"_

_"No." Bruce bit out. Then paused, rethinking his answer. "I'll call for it if I need it."_

_At Tim's nod, Bruce pulled the clock hands to the correct time. The clock hissed before the entire wall moved aside._

_"I am going with you, Father,” Damian declared, stepping from the shadows, determination etched onto his face._

_Bruce whirled around, surprised.  His son hasn’t spoken to him at all since their argument. To be fair, neither had Bruce. He’s been ruminating since his last interaction with Jason._

_“I don’t need help,” Bruce answered automatically and instantly regretted it when hurt flashed across Damian’s face. “I . . . You’re injured, Damian. It’s not safe.”_

_Those seemed to be the wrong words because Damian’s face hardened. He lifted his nose that reminded Bruce too much of Talia. “I’m not a child. This injury is nothing. I won’t be a burden.”_

_Bruce looked at his watch impatiently. He didn’t have time to argue with his son. Every second passed meant potential victims of the Joker. “It’s not about being a burden,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll be distracted. Your arm is still broken. You’ll be a liability, whether you intend to be or not.”_

_“Brooose,” Bruce heard Tim groaned from the table. “That means the same thing.”_

_What? I think I was pretty clear with my words, Bruce thought. He watched, however, as Damian’s body tensed, his face contorting into a fierce scowl, mixed with fury and insecurity._

_“I won’t be!” Damian said with a raised voice. “Batman needs a Robin—”_

_“I don’t need anyone!” Bruce snapped loudly before he could stop himself. He heard Tim groan in the background again. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair and propped his other hand on his hip, breathing deep through his nose. Damn. Temper! Why were words hard? “I didn’t mean that, Damian. Yes, Batman needs Robin, but when Robin is healthy and_ _not_ _injured.. I just . . .” He glanced down at his watch again and cursed. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Properly, okay?”_

_Bruce looked back up at Damian and was stunned to meet a cold expression of his son. It was marred, however, by the glassiness of Damian’s eyes, caused by unshed tears._

_“Now I realize,” Damian said thickly. “I realize Mother is right. You’ve never wanted me. I wish I had never insisted on staying here.”_

_His son turned and walked away before Bruce could answer._

_Bruce didn’t follow him._

* * *

_B_ atman felt the wind shift before he felt the presence of another person on the rooftop. He sighed, knowing only one person who could enter Gotham and casually land behind him.

“Who called you?” Batman rumbled, not bothering to turn around as he surveyed Gotham’s streets. “Tim?”

Superman gave a wry smile. “Why does someone need to call me? Maybe I just missed you?” He walked the few steps separating them and stood by the ledge, adding his gaze onto the citizens of Gotham.

Batman scoffed. “It was Tim.” He straightened from his crouched position at the ledge to face the formidable Superman, who admittedly looked chagrined and boyish with a kind smile.

“Okay, yeah, it was Tim,” Superman said. He reached out a hand to gently cup the cowled face. “But I did miss you. It’s been like, a month since I’ve last seen you that wasn’t League business.”

“It’s been two weeks.”

“Well, if felt like a month!” The hero grinned, but quickly sobered, his other hand to cup Batman’s other cheek. The cowl was hard and cold underneath his hands. Batman allowed the touch, for now, which was rare, but Bruce knew that from the angle of the building and height, they were just mere shadows to the Gothamites “I heard about what happened. Is Damian okay?”

“He’s fine,” Bruce grunted. He turned his head, effectively breaking the hold, and walked a few steps away. His white lenses turned upwards to the sky, noting the lack of the Batman signal. “Arm broken. He’ll heal.”

“Emotionally?”

“He’ll be fine.”

“And you?”

“I don’t have any injuries.”

“Bruce.”

“Fine, a bruised rib.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“So what did you mean?” Batman snapped, whirling around to face his partner. “Why can’t everyone just say what they mean? Everyone’s talking about emotion and misunderstandings, and they’re all distractions. I have Nightwing and the Titans on a mission that could lead to their deaths. I have Jason lecturing _me_ on how to deal with _my_ son, while Tim has taken on the role of disappointment, and my youngest son was injured by a madman who is _on the loose_ because he didn’t follow _my orders!_ What I need to do is catch Joker, so right now, _you’re_ a distraction.”

Superman just crossed his arms and stared back heavily. Years of friendship and intimacy taught Superman how to deal with Batman’s outbursts. It took him years to decipher what or who Batman was actually angry, or confused, or frustrated at. It took another year or two for the two men to learn the proper communication skills between each other.

“You don’t mean that,” Superman said finally. He sighed and threw an exasperated hand towards Batman’s direction. “I get that emotions are hard for you, but I’ve told you so many times over the years! Those kids need more affection and understanding.”

Kids. Bruce snorted at the idea. Damian was the only kid he had, really. Tim was barely a child at his age. Dick was well into his 20s, and so was Jason. Cassandra and Stephanie just started college.

“What they need is discipline.”

Superman quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. “You’re saying Damian— _Damian_ —al Ghul, the boy who was raised and trained by the League of Assassins, needs more discipline?” When Batman didn’t answer, Superman let out an annoyed huff and ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly, Bruce, you need to get over this crap over not expressing your emotions.  For Rao’s sake, these are your _kids_.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” the Dark Knight finally shot back. “How’s Konner doing these days?”

For a brief second, Superman allowed the hurt to spread from his chest and show on his face. Anger flared before he squashed it. Batman knew that was a sore topic, but if he was feeling cornered to lash out, then it was worse than he thought. Superman frowned.

In a flash, Superman had Batman in his arms, the next minute both were suddenly shooting upwards. Some citizens looked up in confusion, thinking it was a plane. As far as they knew, Batman didn’t fly . . . or did he? They watched as the two quickly disappeared into the clouds.

Batman’s mask immediately responded to the change in air pressure, releasing more oxygen flow into his mask with a loud hiss. Batman, initially startled, began to resist in a futile attempt to escape.

“Clark, you set me down on the ground right now, or I swear to God I will jump.”

“You could try,” Superman said, looking down below them. He tightened his grip. “But I’m stronger than you.”

Damn Kryptonians. Batman voiced this out loud, and more.

Superman continued his ascent, slowing until they were considerably high above the city, past the clouds, but still at a safe enough height for humans. Despite Batman’s words, Superman noticed smugly how the man’s hands eventually rested on Superman’s shoulders. Batman stood on Superman’s feet, Superman’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist. Superman didn’t say a word, just continued to float and hold the man he loved dearly as Batman maintained his empty-veiled threats, diplomatic insults, and promises to never leave the house without Kryptonite in case _nosy, intruding Kryptonians invaded Gotham again!_

He stayed silent until Batman was out of breath. Then it was just silence in the vast night sky, two superheroes floating safely in the cool air.

“Calm again?” Superman murmured.

Batman huffed out a humorless laugh, letting his head drop heavily onto his partner’s shoulder. Damn Kryptonians. “I hate it when you do that.”

Superman hummed, not needing an explanation. “You’re worried. About Dick.”

Batman didn’t even try to deny it. There was no point. When you’re flying this high above the sky, did anything matter? “I sent him on the mission. I knew it was dangerous. I haven’t heard from him.”

“The League sent him on the mission,” Superman pointed out. “It was a joint decision. Nightwing was the best for it. And you know he’s in deep. I don’t need to tell you of all people that the mission can’t be jeopardized.”

“Hm.”

Superman sighed and rested his cheek against the hard cowl, not caring that a pointed ear poked him. “Damian is probably worried, too, in his own way. He doesn’t even have all the details.”

“Hm.”

“He’s 13, Ma used to tell me 13-year-olds are the worst at expressing themselves but feel the most out of everyone.”

“Hnn.”

“You can’t take your frustration out on him. Or your fear. Especially after all the progress you’ve made with him.”

Batman grimaced and lifted his head. “Yeah. I know.” He looked down at his feet, or rather, down at the gloomy clouds that covered Gotham city 24/7. “He reminds me of Talia, sometimes. It’s not the most encouraging thing to see in your son.”

Superman allowed amusement to fill his eyes. “Really? He reminds me of you, Bruce.” He ignored Batman’s narrow-eyed stare to continue. “Let’s see, throwing himself in a dangerous situation because he doesn’t even realize he can ask for help, ignoring injuries in favor of patrol, has trouble expressing his emotions in a calm, healthy way, stubborn, prideful, a butt-head—”

“Hey—”

“—and cherishes his family more than anything else.” Superman brushed his thumb against the exposed part of Batman’s face gently. “I know you love them more than your life. I love them. And no matter how complicated or crazy your family is, they love you, too. Stop pushing them away. I have the luxury of being an adult and communicating with you on a different emotional level. These are your kids, who grew up under you, and live for your praise. Don’t . . .” Superman faltered. “You know what happened to me and Konner.”

Batman squeezed Superman’s shoulders and traced a collarbone with his gloved hand. “Konner loved— _loves_ you.”

“Yeah.”

“I shouldn’t have mentioned him like that. I’m sorry, Clark.”

Superman gave him a strained smile. “Okay,” he said neutrally.

“That was pretty shitty of me.”

“Okay.”

“Jason wants me to go to some anger management class.”

That got a loud laugh from his partner. “Are you going?”

“I’ll go once to amuse him.”

Superman chuckled once more, thinking about his partner in an anger management class. They continued to float, bobbing up and down in the air. Batman stared at him for a few minutes, wondering how all the years led to these moments. Superman stared back warmly.

“I’ll talk to Damian, tomorrow. In the morning. I’ll—” Batman swallowed. “—explain myself. It’s hard—for me.”

“I know.” Superman leaned to brush their lips briefly together. “Just know that if you hurt those kids again, even on accident, I’ll tell the whole Justice League how Batman cried during Moana.”

 


End file.
